


Hunting Ground

by GrowlingPeanut



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Cannibalism, minor original characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:52:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrowlingPeanut/pseuds/GrowlingPeanut
Summary: All you wanted was a drink. Little did you know it would be your last.





	Hunting Ground

It wasn’t hard to find a nearly-deserted bar on Pandora. Bars outnumbered pretty much every other type of establishment and the… _thin_ population assured that none of them would be busy. The trick was finding one that served marginally-palatable drinks. But that wasn’t your goal at the moment. You didn’t even particularly care that this bar—Hunting Ground (weird name for a bar, but hey, Pandora)—seemed to be semi-lively. You just wanted a drink.

You stormed up to the counter, slid a few bills across it, and muttered “strongest” to the haggard man behind it. The clear concoction you received in return smelled like battery acid and burned twice as bad. It was perfect. Life on this shithole planet was always terrible, but today had been a fucking disaster. You were prepared to drink yourself to death if that’s what it took to forget it. Two-thirds of the way through the bottle and that was looking feasible.

Apparently the universe had other plans. The sound of the door stopped you with the bottle halfway to your lips. Normally, something like that wouldn’t have even crossed your radar, but the effect it had on the rest of the patrons was what piqued your curiosity. You heard someone to your left start to whisper, “Is that—” before they were immediately silenced by somebody else at the table. Slowly, the previous conversations resumed, though they were almost drowned by the clink of chains and the hollow sound of heavy boots against the metal plate floor.

“Usual, Carlton.” He spoke before you saw him, but you’d know that husky, commanding voice _anywhere_. Their propaganda had spread through every media outlet across the planet.

The bartender gave a brisk nod and reached under the counter. You tried not to stare as the newcomer leaned up against the edge of the bar, close enough for you to reach out and touch, if you’d dared. Which you _didn’t_. The Children of the Vault were...an interesting group. You’d thought about joining, once, then promptly talked yourself out of it, reasoning that you could keep an eye on the infamous Calypso Twins without subjecting yourself to… _whatever_ they did inside that stronghold. Still, the siren siblings were fascinating beyond belief and you watched them from a safe distance. Until now, that was.

It wasn’t all that strange really, to see him here. There was a COV base close by and you guessed he had to bounce from location to location and check in, if only to keep up appearances. Still, this didn’t seem odd to anyone else in the bar—

The bartender (Carlton, apparently), placed a disarmingly simple-looking cocktail down in front of Troy, receiving a nod of approval as payment.

—and Troy was here often enough to have a ‘usual,’ whatever it was. Didn’t look like anything you’d ever seen. Thick, dark red, salt rim. Or maybe sugar. You couldn’t tell.

“New around here?”

It took you a minute to realize you were the target of the question. “Uh—” You swallowed, your throat suddenly feeling tight. “—y-uh...”

He slid up onto the barstool next to yours, distant amusement in his eyes. “’Cause I’m good with faces...” He knocked his drink back in one gulp and motioned for another. “...and yours ain’t familiar.”

You tried not to stare as he swiped his tongue around the edge of the glass, but holy _shit_ , you’d never seen a tongue that long—

“Sugar.” He winked. “Carlton, another round for the newbie, here.”

You found your voice long enough to start protesting. “Oh, no, it’s—”

He waved you back into silence. “Everything’s free so long as I’m here.” He gave you a wide grin and your heart jumped as you _swore_ you saw _fangs_. You blinked and the smile was gone, replaced with a coy smirk. “Might as well enjoy it, no?”

You nodded. Shrugged. You knew the twins were charismatic, but you’d never expected this level of… _charm_. Maybe this day would end on a good note, provided you didn’t do anything stupid. Compelling as he was, Troy Calypso was still _highly_ dangerous and there were warning bells going off in your head—though, admittedly, they were getting quieter.

“So what brings you out this way?” He murmured his thanks when Carlton set the new drinks out. "Curiosity? Necessity?” His ice-blue eyes studied you over the rim of his glass as he took a much more conservative sip.

You tipped back the rest of your first drink. “Mm—just passing through.” It wasn’t a lie, not technically. You had a few things stashed nearby that you needed to pick up, but once that was done, you’d be on your way out again.

“Lucky chance, then, coming here tonight.” Again, he flashed that dazzling grin and you _knew_ you saw sharp teeth. “Don’t get me wrong, I love my sister, but sometimes she can be a little...clingy. Nice to get away. Meet new people.” He slung his arm around your shoulders and clinked his drink against yours.

You mirrored his smile and reached for the new bottle in front of you. He was surprisingly easy to talk to. You figured he’d be...cold. Aloof. Superior. But all you felt was warmth. Or maybe that was just the alcohol.

********************

It could have been an hour, it could have been a day. All you knew was that Troy’s arm made a surprisingly comfortable pillow and you were laughing about _something_ as if the two of you were long-lost friends. His laugh was light and airy and nonchalant and you wanted to listen to it forever. There were three empty bottles on the counter in front of you. He still hadn’t finished his second.

“Nn _then_ whad’ya do?” you slurred.

He poked a bright red cocktail sword toward you. “I flipped her off and did it anyway.”

You broke down into a fit of giggles. His own laughter rumbled in the background. You’d been right. This was so much better than what you’d planned on doing. At least you were having fun. Who knew Troy goddamn Calypso would be such a great drinking buddy? You moved to sit back up, but over-corrected and almost went sliding off the other side of your barstool. Troy caught you. You barely felt his cold metallic fingers against your skin.

“Easy there...how ‘bout we go...”

His voice blended into the background noise of the room, but you let him lead you away from the bar, through a door. It was much darker here—wherever you were—and you were grateful for it. Without the lights swimming in your eyes, you could see some sort of couch or bench against the wall ahead of you. You sank bonelessly into it when he released your arm.

“Lay down...” His hands were on you again, pressing at your shoulders, guiding you onto your back. “Good...” He made a sort of funny huff. It might have been a laugh. “You sure can hold your liquor, huh? That shit woulda knocked me flat on my ass.”

A strange sound left your lips, but you didn’t care. The couch was soft and warm and— Suddenly, he was over you, on top of you, one knee on either side of your hips. You felt like you should probably be trying to get him _off_ , but all you could do was lay there.

“You were an easy mark,” he muttered. “A little disappointing, if I’m being honest.”

 _Mark? What—?_ You tried to bring your arms up, to push him, to do _anything_ , but you felt as though you were moving through slag.

He just sighed and pinned you down. “Too drunk to put up a fight...” He leaned closer, pressing his lips to your neck, right against your pulse. You laid there, stiff, your moonshine-marinated brain working sluggishly to make sense of it all. After what felt like an hour, he pulled back, grinning. He wasn’t trying to hide it now. Every visible tooth was filed to a deadly point, his canines so much longer than what you remembered from the bar. “You’ll still taste good though.”

It all happened in slow motion. You could see it, but you couldn’t do a damn thing to stop it. Something under his skin shifted and you watched in mounting horror as his jaw _split_ , revealing more teeth than you expected; you weren’t sure if there was more than one row or if you were still seeing double. Each of them was either razor sharp or roughly serrated, glinting in the low light. You’d been stupid to let your guard down, to get comfortable, you _knew_ he was dangerous— 

The pain cut through the fog, but only after a few seconds of delay. His teeth were already clamped around your neck by the time you managed to force out a broken scream. Your voice gurgled as blood welled up into your throat. This was it. You were going to die. Devoured by this cannibalistic _freak_ of a siren— Heavy cold seeped into your body, moving from your neck to your chest, creeping steadily downward. By the time he pulled away, all you wanted to do was sleep.

“Hhnn...” He licked the blood from his face with that too-long tongue, then snapped his jaw back into place. “Fresh is so much better than that old, stale shit Carlton keeps for me.” His voice sounded different. Rougher. You swore you heard some kind of _purring_.

All too clearly, it clicked. His drink hadn’t been a cocktail. It was just… _blood_. He wasn’t drunk. He’d been _hunting_. And you were the prey. You wanted to vomit, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t even feel your own body anymore. Small blessings, you supposed, given what came next.

His teeth sank into your stomach, straight through your shirt. The only thing you felt was a slight pressure; the paralysis distorted your ability to link any part of your body with any sort of sensation. It was interesting, in a morbid way, watching yourself be torn apart. It almost felt like you were watching it happen to _someone else_. He ripped and tugged like a feral, ravenous animal, pulling out flesh and organs, swallowing them nearly whole. Every once in a while, he’d come up for a breath, his whole face dripping red. His eyes would lock with yours, just thin rings of frigid blue around wildly-dilated pupils. That wasn’t even the worst part. You still saw _humanity_ when he looked at you. You saw cold, stark _pleasure_. He grinned. It was nightmarish, too wide, too many teeth. This wasn’t just some base necessity, he was… _enjoying_ it.

You spent an eternity lying there, growing colder and colder, a thin film of black dancing at the edge of your vision. Dying was a funny thing. Half of your brain resigned itself to the inevitability, but the other half still hoped no matter what that you’d somehow walk away from it. Rationally, you knew you weren’t going to leave the bar alive. He’d moved up to your ribs, gnawing the strings of muscle from them. You couldn’t even feel pressure anymore. You were just floating, completely detached from everything, waiting for the darkness to take over. It seemed like he was slowing down, now that he’d taken the edge off his hunger.

You would’ve laughed, if you could’ve. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined going out like this. Pandora was a deathtrap, but this was just so...bizarre... You watched through glassy eyes as he settled back, licking the last of the blood from his dripping jaws. After a minute, he stood, walking back toward the door you’d come through. Before it closed behind him, you heard faint conversation.

“...better?” The bartender. His name slipped your mind.

Troy laughed. “Yeah.” He sounded almost giddy. “Made a fucking mess, so...have fun with that. I’d get in there quick if I was you, save the heart...”

 _Huh_ , you thought as your vision faded to black. _The name of the bar makes sense now._


End file.
